The boutique glowed under warm lights, racks of suits and silks stretching across the floor. Veeresh moved with his usual authority, sharp eyes scanning the suit section. He tried on a few — navy, charcoal, grey — each making him look every bit the ruthless tycoon he was.

But Poornima shook her head gently each time, her gaze lingering with that quiet honesty he could never resist. Finally, she picked up a sleek black tuxedo with matching shoes.

“Try this one,” she said softly.

When he stepped out, the sharp lines of the tuxedo sculpting his frame, her lips curved.

“You look perfect, Veeresh.”

His reply was clipped, almost gruff. “Ok.”

But inside, something unspoken warmed him. Perfect… only because she said so.

---

They moved on to the saree section. Rows of silks shimmered — red, gold, ivory. Veeresh flipped through them with little interest until his hand stilled on a deep emerald green saree.

He didn’t say anything, just held it for a moment longer than necessary. His mind whispered what he would never speak aloud.

She’ll wear this on our wedding day.

He bought it without hesitation.

---

Shopping done, the world outside felt lighter. They stopped, as they always did, at the little juice corner. Kiwi milkshake for him. Mosambi for her. The comfort of routine wrapping around them like a secret promise.

Poornima wiped her hands with a tissue, glancing at her phone. “I should leave. Work is waiting.”

Veeresh studied her for a beat, then gave a curt nod. “Ok.”

She booked a cab, waved him a quick goodbye, and disappeared into the evening traffic.

Veeresh stood for a moment longer, sipping the last of his milkshake. Then he slid into his car, the leather cold against his palms, and drove back to the mansion.

The tuxedo lay in one bag.

The emerald saree in another.

And in his chest, a truth only he carried — she was already his bride, even if the world didn’t know it yet.